Perks of Loving a Wallflower
by Expelliarmash
Summary: Sam is off to marry her lover boy from college, and Charlie is still home. Now he has turned his focus to one of the second most important people in his life, Patrick. It's now Charlie realizes that his heart yearns from something more from Patrick. But could they last, in a world where they are rejected? Based from "Perks of being a Wallfower", Charlie's story is revamped!
1. Chapter 1

June 4, 1995

Dear Friend,

Today, I graduated from high school. I can hardly believe it, being as it feels as if I had just started yesterday, happily spending time with Sam and Patrick, and just trying to get by. But I suppose all time goes fast when you're not really paying attention. I realize I haven't really written you in a long time, so I'll try to fill you in on what's happened.

Firstly, I suppose, is to say that Sam is getting married this summer. She introduced me to him, her fiancé I mean. Carson. He's pretty nice I guess, and he's not rude or arrogant, and he treats Sam with a lot of respect. So I'm happy for her, really this time. She is too. When she talked to me on the phone about him proposing, she sounded all glowy and ecstatic, and I couldn't help but be happy for her.

Carson lives near the college, so she'll be able to get married, and still get her degree, which makes me happy. Carson was really influential in making sure she'd stay in college, because he always talked about how it was important to get an education and stuff like that. So, Sam's staying with him now, but Patrick moved back, which made me happy. He came over just yesterday, the night before graduation, and all he could talk about was planning Sam's wedding, and that he already informed her of being the Maid of Honor, which she happily obliged to.

I couldn't help but notice Patrick's features, as we sat and watched one of his favorite movies "The Princess Bride". His smile that always sucked in peoples' attention, his baby dimples, which he insists were a gift from God, his perfectly smooth ebony hair, which he could always seem to manage well, even on his rather rough days. I hadn't even realized I was staring until he blurted "Charlie! Are you checking me out?" in the middle of Fireswamp scene. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks, but it wasn't really from embarrassment, but more from the way that he had said it. He wasn't offended, which he usually isn't, or cynical, which he usually is. He took me looking as a genuine compliment, as if he liked the fact that I was looking.

What made me blush was that I liked the fact he liked it. And it wasn't until Patrick carefully settled his hand on the couch cushion, near the popcorn bowl, when I realized just how much I cared for him, and desperately wanted to hold his hand. But how could I tell him that? Maybe when he asked if I was checking him out, he meant it as a joke. Maybe I was thinking this whole thing over too much. I'm not really sure, but I know that I care for Patrick now. Maybe more than I ever have. Maybe I can tell him someday, but I couldn't right then. I didn't have it in me.

Today, he drove me to graduation. Mom and Dad were happy to see me hanging out with Patrick again, so when he suggested driving me out to the school ahead of time to get ready, they, or more Mom than Dad, were entirely cool about it, even though I know they kind of wanted to be the ones to take me. In all honesty, though, I was glad Patrick took me. I enjoy spending time with him, much more than my family. Then again, Patrick's already like family to me. So I guess I just enjoy being with a branch of my family, I guess. We pulled up to the high school at 12:03, even though the ceremony wasn't until 3:30. Patrick clicked the car off and stretched into the backseat to pull out the plastic garment bag that held my dingy black cap and gown. As he stretched, his shirt hoisted up, revealing a small portion of his side. Heat rose to my cheeks once more as I refocused my eyes to Patrick himself. He grinned as he settled back down into the seat, the dull gown hidden behind it's plastic cover hugged tightly to the wire hanger that hung loosely on his finger. He dangled the garment in front of me as he quickly said "Let's go have you try this on, Einstein!"

Our sneakers squeaked incredibly loud as we carefully weaved our way through the high school halls. Though I had been here not two days ago, Patrick's mouth was constantly held agape as he pointed out features that had changed since he had graduated. "I can't believe they took that down!" and "That was awesome! Why would they change that!?" were two of his more common phrases as we hunted for an open restroom. Patrick and I turned at the next corner, being that we knew a bathroom should just be a few lockers down that way, when an obtrusion by the bathroom door forced us to stop. A blonde girl with dangerously tan skin and lips that were like two bright, red sausages, was locking lips with a man I couldn't see. When me and Patrick made noise coming around, she flipped around, menacingly staring at us as we halted in our tracks. My eyes scanned her up and down, and it was a few awkward moments before a name clicked. Natalie Port-something, a Senior, like me. I remembered her from Sophomore Biology, when she tried to convince Mr. Woodson that frogs couldn't have possibly evolved from fish-like creatures, because they need air, not water. I was about to keep walking to find another restroom, but Patrick was frozen stiff, as if he'd just seen a ghost. I followed his gaze, which led to the individual with red lip-stick smeared all over his lips. This time, no amount of time was needed to put a name with a face.

Brad.

It was if all the life had drained out of Patrick's face. No longer was he pointing out changed objects that were loosely stamped or painted all over the school walls. Now, he was like a statue, with Brad's deceitful eyes digging into him like claws. Another moment passed, silence, then another, then another. Natalie huffed as she slinked back towards Brad, her arm looping with his. Brad quickly drug his forearm across his face, smearing more of the red that was practically gobbed on his puffy lips. His brow furrowed so deep, it almost looked as if he had a unibrow. "What're you lookin' at, faggot?" he spoke, loud enough to be heard, quiet enough that it would not echo through the all too empty halls. To say Patrick was taken aback would be lying, but an all too familiar look of hurt flashed across his face. He wouldn't say anything, he just stood, his eyes glinting with tears. I looked from him, to Brad, then back to him. _No, don't cry Patrick. Not here. You don't deserve that. _But he can't hear my head-voice, so we just stand there. Finally, as Brad goes to throw another line, I flip around and grab Patrick's hand. I pull him and I pull him and I pull him through the halls, leftrightleftrightrightleft, anywhere to get away. I know of another bathroom, we'll go to that one. I don't even look back, I just keep pulling him, not letting go of his hand. I just pull pull pull and keep pulling. I pull until that's all I know to do.

We make it to the bathroom. Except for the noises of Patrick and I catching our breath, it's quiet. I stand facing the lockers, Patrick standing directly behind me. A moment passes, then another. Our breathing has evened out. Now it's just the simple silence of the school. I finally turn and look at him, and surprisingly, the look of hurt is gone, but his face holds an expression that I don't expect. His eyes hold a strange sense of longing, and it's another moment before I realize I'm still holding his hand. I look down, observing his soft, angular hands fitting almost perfectly into mine. He looks down too, his eyes trailing from my hands, up my arms and back to my face. We stand, looking at each other a bit too long to be just friends, and we both know it. And that's when I realize how badly I want Patrick. I want to hold him, and tell him it'll be alright. I want to dance with him to stupid songs, and sing terribly off-key, and practice the Living-Room Routine, like him and Sam used to. I want to watch movies all night, and when we run out of films to watch, go on early morning cruises to the bookstore. But what I want the most is to just be with Patrick. I want to tell him how much he means to me, and that I'll always be there for him. But words won't come as I stand and watch him gaze at me. He grips my hand a little tighter, and that's when I realize it.

He feels the same way.

I can see it, in the way he's now smiling. At the way he's moving closer. In the way he's moving his hand to my side. In the way he pushes me up against the lockers.

In the way his lips meet mine in the most gentle way possible, carefully caressing them as we kiss.

My eyes close, and for a moment, that's all there is.

Memoriesmemoriesflash. I got changed, Patrick peeked. Graduation. Honor student. My parents took Patrick and I to dinner. My parents went home. We went to the movies and watched a new movie, "Welcome to the Dollhouse". WE went back to Patrick's to play Uno.

I open my eyes.

I'm standing in Patrick's bathroom, no longer in the itchy graduation gown. I look at myself in the mirror, eyeing my facial features. I've certainly grown since freshman year. My chin is fuller, coated with a small trace of stubble. I'm still rather skinny, like Patrick. I guess that comes with being Charlie. My button-up blue shirt opens loosely at the collar, revealing some of my collar bone. I sigh, and click the light off. I sneak back into the living room. The scattered Uno cards lay abandoned on the coffee table, and Patrick is missing. I glance around the living room and kitchen, but he's no where to be found. I turn, and hop up the stairs, to the room I recall being Patrick's. The door is slightly ajar, which gives as my first clue, but when I open it fully, the lights are off, and I can barely see where I am stepping. One step. I still hear nothing, where's the light switch? Two step. Did I just hear something? Three step. Where's the switch? My hands feel along the wall, but before I can reach anything, my body is being pressed against the wall.

The now all too familiar feel of Patrick's lips press against mine, and his body curves against my chest. My hands fall down to his waist, gripping pieces of his shirt as I do so. He pulls away, flicking one of his three light switches. A dim light comes on, and I can see that we are against his far wall, opposite to his bed and couch. Now he's back, pulling me towards the couch. He flips around and gently pushes me longways onto the cushions. Before I can take another breath, his lips are on mine again, his body hovering over mine. We kiss, we kiss, we kiss, and it's wonderful.

Except.

"Patrick?" I mumble, pulling my head out of the way of his lips.

"Charlie?" he mumbles back, carefully observing me.

I look at him, his eyes longingly gazing at me. I stop and think of where I am, right now, at this point of time. I'm here, with the person I-.

"Patrick?" I mumble, pulling my head out of the way of his lips.

"Charlie?" he mumbles back, carefully observing me.

I look at him, his eyes longingly gazing at me. I stop and think of where I am, right now, at this point of time. I'm here, with the person I-.

I love.

I smile.

"I love you."

His eyes grow wide, along with his smile.

"I love you too."

And this time, I push my lips to his, my hands combing through his hair as we kiss and kiss and kiss, and I'm so happy.

I'm so happy.


	2. Chapter 2

June 9, 1995

Dear Friend,

It's been almost a week since I spent the night at Patrick's. I thought maybe my parents would have possibly freaked out a little over me being gone overnight without them knowing, but when I showed up the next morning, Patrick in hand, there was another matter to go over.

I knew I needed to talk with them about how I felt.

On the car ride home, I asked Patrick about the basics of how to talk with them, and he explained the process thoroughly of how to talk to them.

"First Charlie, explaining to them how you feel might be a little difficult, I need you to understand that, okay?" he speaks, the loud rumbling of the truck bouncing his voice as he speaks. I nod, my eyes focusing on the road. Though I'm listening, my mind is a million miles away, trying to find words that will work, but I'm not sure if there are any. "Second," he continues, his eyes carefully bouncing between me and the road. "if your parents love you more than they dislike me, then they'll accept how you feel. If their fear is more overwhelming than their love, you can always come stay with me." His eyes delve into mine as he speaks, and I know that he means every word he says. However, the look of worry must still be pretty prominent on my face, because he reaches over and grasps my hand tightly. It's not a word of reassurance, but for now, it's enough.

"Third, and lastly," he begins again, as the truck is pulled to a stop in front of my house and the engine silently clicked off. "Remember I love you, and that even if this is a hard road that has to be taken, know that I'm willing and ready to take it with you." he smiles, leaning over and gently placing a kiss on my cheek. I swallow hard, and nod, ready to face whatever comes next.

We climb out of the car, and slowly walk to the front door. My hand stops at the door handle, my eyes sliding back to Patrick, standing a few steps behind me. He nods at me lightly, flashing one more smile before we slide into my house.

The first thing I take notice of is how different my house smells in comparison to Patrick's. My memories flash to the previous night, lying on his couch, Patrick just holding me as we both slowly drift off to sleep. A interesting mixture of vanilla and clean cotton swirled around his whole house, and it was equally appetizing as it was comforting. My house emanates a sort of lemon grass and carpet cleaner smell throughout all of the rooms, which is homely to me, but suffers a probability of being weird-smelling to the neighbors. However, Patrick doesn't seem to notice as we glide into the living room, where my parents are cooped. Mom is wrapping and un-wrapping and re-wrapping the telephone cord around her fingers as she quietly chats with one of her friends that I've never met. Dad is watching baseball on the TV and it's obvious that he isn't too interested, but he's watching it regardless. Patrick and I carefully settle onto the couch, the cushions making a wheezing noise, as if years of being squashed were starting to take their toll.

I notice that my Mom isn't really saying much on the phone, just merely humming "mh-hm"s and "uh-huh"s as her friend blathers on and on. My Mom is a relatively good listener, so maybe this won't be too difficult. Dad's eyes dart from the TV to me as he stands up to shut the TV off. His glasses slouch down to the end of his nose as he picks up the paper and talks. "You need something, Charlie?" he mumbles, not really interested, but speaking, nevertheless. I swallow the block of ice that evidently formed as I silently waited, and carefully choose my words.

"I-I. I was hoping I could talk to you and Mom for a second." I say, the words tumbling out.

Dad looks at me again, this time his eyes narrowing down at me. He waves his hand at Mom and mutters something I don't hear. Mom quickly manages a good-bye to her friend, and takes another Moment to unwind the cord that has her fingers suffocating.

"What do you need, Charlie?" Dad speaks again, his eyes dully scanning the paper. Mom watches me carefully, her eyes forcing an unrealistic appearance of concern.

"Mom," I start again. "Dad." I look between them one more time before the words pour again.

"I'm gay."

* * *

At first, they didn't move. In my imagination, they spring up, somewhat furious, somewhat confused, all hurt, screaming that I'm a terrible son. But no, to my surprise, they remain perfectly still. My father's jaw cracks a bit, but as far as voicing an opinion, my mother is the first to speak.

"Charlie," she says, almost in a whisper. "would you and Patrick please step into the other room, and allow me a Moment with your father?" Technically it's a question, but it's voiced more as a command. Warily, Patrick and I stand and carefully saunter into the kitchen.

I listen for yelling, for screaming, for "It's your fault"s and possible slaps, but they don't come. I repetitively pace back and forth in front of the sink, waiting and waiting and waiting, Patrick's soothing voice attempting and reattempting to calm me down.

"Charlie, it'll be okay, I promise. Charlie, please, just sit down. I promise, it'll be alright."

I don't know why I'm so worried. I keep telling myself everything Patrick says, but the fear of what they'll say continues to eat me alive as we patiently wait, me still by the sink, Patrick lousily in the chair.

It's another ten minutes before my parents step into the kitchen, my father's hands buried deep in his pockets, my mother's hands wringing gently.

"Your mother and I," Dad starts, his voice low, and careful. "discussed what we think about what you said, and we are both willing to give our peaceful opinions on the matter." He stops, and Mom slightly nudges him with her elbow. "Oh, uh, if you're willing to hear them."

I glance between them, then to Patrick, who gives me a silent nod. I look back them, their weary eyes practically prying my open. "Of course."

They exchange glances again, and this time, Mom speaks. "First," she begins, "I'd like to say that you.." she pauses, searching for words. "realizing this about yourself.." I wait for the scold, the '_Will ruin the rest of your life!_' speech that's supposed to follow, but it doesn't come.

"Does not change the fact that I still love you."

A sense of relief floods over me, and my rigid stance loosens as she continues to speak.

"We all make our own choices. I believe you and Patrick share something special, and I'll always support you in whatever you do." she smiles, this time, a real smile. A smile that isn't forceful or fake, but genuine. I smile faintly back, looking from her to Dad.

* * *

They left the room at that point. Dad moved to say something, but the words wouldn't come to his lips.

My mom saw that this was affecting him, so she told me they'd talk to me later, and pulled him out of the room.

Patrick smiled at me, grabbing my hand carefully as he did so. "This is good," he whispered, trying carefully to relax me. "we just need to give them some time."

I nodded and faintly smiled, taking in what just happened. At the very least, my mother is accepting of my choice. That'll make it easier to accept whatever my dad has to say about it. Patrick and I walk hand-in-hand back to the front door, our palms clenched swinging back and forth. We reach the front door, the sunlight streaming through the open walkway. My eyes trace up Patrick's body, to his beautiful brown eyes. The sunlight glistens carefully on them, making them more brighter than ever. I watch him, his stature, the way his eyes seem to grow even brighter when they're focused on me. I can't help myself. I push Patrick back into the wall, my mouth on his. Every time I see him, I want to hold him, keep him safe, tell him how much I love him. His fingers slide to my neck and up to my hair, his palm at the base of my skull. I kiss him, kiss him, kiss him, stop. I pull back, half heartily laughing. "I'm sorry." I whisper, because I know we're at my parents, and that maybe this isn't the time for this. He smiles back, his hand sliding down to my waist.

"Why?" he asks, but he doesn't give me a moment to respond before he's pulled me back to his chest, his lips back on mine.

* * *

(June 12)

Three days later, my parents still haven't brought it up to me about our talk.

But Patrick has informed me of something that has had me slightly distracted from that, despite it's importance.

"I'm moving out of this house." he announced to me the following Monday, when I was at his house for lunch.

I dropped my fork, the metallic sound clanging against the china plate, echoing through the silent kitchen.

"Where?" I ask, the words carefully leaving my lips.

"I've already got it all planned out." he returns, his dashing smile giving a sense of control, and calm. The fork makes its way back into my hand, picking at the lasagna that decorates it nicely. Patrick's hand slides under the table, gently touching my knee. "But first. There's something I want to tell you, Charlie." He smiles, a piece of hair dangling in front of his left eye. He flicks his head back in attempt to move it, but it slides back in place, content with its position.

"I want you to move in with me."

My eyes dart from Patrick, to my plate, back to Patrick.

"M-me? Move in? Really?"

"You don't want to?" The light glints, darkens. He's sad. What I am saying? Why aren't the words coming out? Of course I want to, of course I-

"I'm sorry, Charlie, I just thought, I thought-" He's standing, why did he stand? Patrick sit back down. "I'm rushing this aren't I?" No, you're not, I- "Charlie, I'm rushing this, I'm rushing this, I'm sorry, you know me, scatterbrain, crazy Patrick. We just started this relationship, why would I have you move in now? That's crazy, I'm crazy, crazy Patrick, loco, I'm-"

Oh, Patrick, your lips taste even better when you're crazy.

He's calmed down. I pull away.

I swallow the chunk of ice that had seemed to form in my throat.

"Of course I want to move in with you. I just didn't realize you really wanted me around so much. I've never really felt so wanted."

Patrick melts back into a smile, his face returning to normal. "Of course I want you around, why wouldn't I? You're my Pooky-Charlie."

I laugh, all too aware of the heat rising to my cheeks. I fall into a smirk, and lean my elbow against the table. "You know," I whisper, my eyes glued to his. "You're even cuter when you're panicking over me."

Patrick returned the compliment with his mouth against mine. Patrick, my Patrick.

I still can't believe I'm allowed to call him mine.


End file.
